The Dirty Truth About Capitalism: A Rare Political Aside

This is not a political blog, by design. Though I'm a dedicated progressive activist and voter, I reserve this space for more calming dispatches, mostly poetry and the occasional diary-like musings that soothe my nerves between marathon hours of making music and art and basically just functioning. Yet rules are made to be broken, and there's a rather unpleasant reason for such exception today. 

Despite the very public (and deservedly-derided) Tea Party takeover of North Carolina's controls the past couple of years, I still know this state to be one of the leading progressive lights of the South. I am more than happy to tell folks from afar that the current governmental situation here is the result of illegal gerrymandering and voter fraud, because it is. I tell them that the voices in power behind the throne don't represent the views of pretty much anyone I know in NC, and I've lived all over this state for most of my life. We're a cultured, rational, diverse place that bucks many of the northern stereotypes of the South. It's one reason I love it here.

Occasionally though, a hint of ugly good-old-boy Southern anachronistic politics will peek through this pleasant rainbow of ours. Like when your local newspaper, usually a reputable source of impartiality, blessedly free of rightward spin, publishes an editorial in defense of capitalism, citing those hoary old Fox News buzzwords "socialism" and "fascism" as the true evils that cloud capitalism's victory as the best method for the poor to pull themselves up out of poverty. "Don't listen", the article practically begs. "It's all commie lies". Capitalism, we're told condescendingly, is the greatest political system on earth. The myth of the benevolent corporation working for anything but their own greed has persisted since the trickle-down days of Reagan, but its sure seen a real renaissance of late. 

So how does a rational, informed liberal respond to such blatant propaganda and big-company apologetics? I suppose he rants to his blog. 2014, everybody.

But let's unpack some of these persistent myths for a moment, if you'll bear with me. 

It doesn't take someone with a degree in Poly Sci to see the reality of our current empire in decline, and that such strident denials of said situation are surely evidence that said decline is probably irreversible. The scales have fallen from many of our eyes, after all; we know corporations manipulate the very people they hurt most, through powerful lobbying of their in-pocket congressman and senators, and dupe them into voting for their desires time and time again. We know they use social issues and that classic American fear of the 'other' as a dividing tactic to distract their great unwashed from their own nefarious misdeeds. We know they exploit the ignorance and rural fear of the undereducated to blind them to their bailouts, their Wall Street abuses, their wage slavery. They coddle them with another myth, that myth that they too, if they work hard enough, could be wealthy, and that anyone who isn't wealthy is a lazy 'taker'. In this way, they demonize not just the 'other', but also the poor, and their loyal voters continue to defend them to death, all while seeming to ignore one simple fact: they're the working poor themselves. Meanwhile, the corporate welfare queens squeal at their gullibility.

Far-right conservatism preys on peoples' worst instincts, their inherent selfishness and refusal to understand another's experiences. This chest-beating, knuckle-dragging  mentality is built on old fashioned superiority, on a narrow perspective of the world and its inhabitants. My way is simply right, and if you disagree, you are wrong, and a traitor. These 'true Americans' expect to have their political views respected under freedom of speech, but don't believe in the same criteria for the other side. They're easily distracted by outlandish paranoid conspiracy theories and fake scandals. They almost-hilariously believe any attempt to stop them from persecuting others is itself persecution. It's always Us Vs. Them. The cult of extreme-right zombies have no need for verified facts or logic. 

In a world where most developed nations have moved towards the logical next step of universal healthcare as a human right for its citizens, here we balk at the idea of a precious few tax dollars going towards something as absurd as saving a child in poverty from cancer. One could argue that this is a form of state-sanctioned eugenics, far-righties feeling that these 'others' deserve whatever they get, while once again conveniently ignoring that in most cases, it's themselves in that position. Let's not forget, these same people are often the ones whining about an irreversible loss of community and morality as the years dance by, all while clinging to their money while the less fortunate die. This is the sad reality of far-right "Christian" values in our modern age. God wants you to look out for you. Our proud patchwork of entitled McMansion dwellers is so deeply removed from the actual horrors of genocide that they'll compare an attempt at universal healthcare to Nazism without blinking an eye.

I mean, does it get more self-loathing than women who vote for old, rich white men who consider them nothing more than baby factories? Folks who care a great deal about an unborn cluster of cells, but care less about that child's well-being as soon as actual birth is commenced? It's a startling pattern with the far right; if it's rational limitations to guns so more children don't get their faces blown off, say, well that's tyranny. Small government for all! But when big government is needed to interfere with the private sex lives of citizens, to try to enforce theocracy past all church and state boundaries laid out by the founders because some people are just too obsessed with what other people do with their bodies, then big government is just as dandy as a dewdrop! The far-right constituency is fooled into this schematic time and time again, this demon hypocrisy, and they'll never stop being blinded by such tactics. We've even reached the point of vilifying higher education, which should be the goal of most of our citizenship for their children; the far right knows damn well that the increased education, culture and exposure to people of different backgrounds found in higher education inevitably leads to progressive ideologies. No matter that those in charge attended college themselves. They need their voters dumb and misled, and working for them in Wal-Mart for scraps from the table without complaint. They encourage pride in the stupid, through cultural exploitation of white-trash culture as "True America" and its celebration of backward, harmful views as a natural cross-section of our nation. This is the kind of idiocy that keeps a vastly beneficial and largely harmless plant illegal (best not to threaten those big pharmaceutical and paper companies, after all), while alcoholism is essentially openly encouraged by our society. This is the upside-down land we live in.

Socialism, a buzz word dutifully parroted by those on the right without ever realizing what it actually means, is the enemy of capitalism, this is true. Socialism hurts class divide by expanding opportunities for all. Socialism encourages community over the caste, the true access to an American dream rather than the petty illusion of one based on blind consumerism, ignorance and fear. Still, Tom Q. Tea Party will gladly drive on public roads and send his kids to public schools that his taxes fund, and will gladly pony up for needless and xenophobic wars to line the pockets of defense contractors the world over (with their children as cannon fodder to do the rich folks' bidding), all while bitching up and down about the tiny ration of funds PBS and NPR are appropriated each year. This is how education and culture is being eradicated in our country. This is how we excuse the murder of citizens, often black, by insecure cowboys with the tiniest of rationalizations justified as 'self-defense'. This is how we keep stocking prisons with people of color press-ganged into jail cells on petty drug charges (the prison-building lobbies also need to keep raking in the funds). This is how we ignore an epidemic of gang violence in Chicago because it only affects those poor, dark-skinned people. This is how we feel no guilt in executing potentially-innocent prisoners but rant and rave about the sanctity of all life.

Capitalism encourages division and judgment, not unity and mutual understanding.  It encourages the heedless rape of the planet and a shortsighted, ignorant view of the future and such destruction's consequences. It pillories scientists via extreme-right religion in order to avoid environmental regulations that cut into the hallowed profit margins, it denies the overwhelming evidence of global warming to steer us from considering clean energy and keep us continuing to worship oil and coal, feeding our addiction with desperation measures designed to squeeze every last drop of resources from a swiftly dying planet. And it encourages theocratic patriarchy to keep the people subservient, those kind folks who use religion as the most convenient of moral shields to rationalize their fears and prejudices.

Capitalism exploits any person or thing it can for the benefit of those at the top. Factory workers in China throw themselves to their death to escape productivity hell, rainforests are plowed under and more suburban sprawl is built…all so someone can buy a third yacht when two isn't enough. Empty possessions they think will fill some hole that they'll never fill, and that cease to mean anything upon death. Capitalism is a mechanism for this alone, and its cost is brainwashing those at the bottom into protecting them while turning on each other with pointed fingers. We're still the most powerful country in the world, and this affects people globally.

Fact is, American exceptionalism based on capitalism is not brought to bear by statistics. One only has to glance at the ways we're bettered by other developed nations - in education, in finances, in infant mortality, in any number of ways - to see that's the case. Our softer-minded citizens pine for a 'good old days' morality that never existed instead of moving forward into a more harmonious future. Capitalism is the late party where everyone is refusing to get their keys and leave, and it will be our downfall, unless we make some very necessary paradigm shifts.

But I still have hope. After all, if a conservative is outraged and spewing inherently-factless diatribes, you can tell they're frightened of losing. Those ignorant of history, those who believe this country was founded as a capitalist theocracy despite all evidence proving otherwise, will never look back far enough to see their own follies spelled out for them in the pages of the past. They fail to see, for example, that they will lose the fight to legislatively enforce their obsessed hatred of LGBTQ citizens just as their parents lost the battle to do the same to African-Americans (all attempts to paint our current president as a tyrannical monster as a convenient cover for glaring racism aside). Or that women will never, ever lose the right to choose what to do with their own bodies and sex lives. Or that just as their ancestors were allowed to come to this great country to work and build a life, there will continue to be a place here for those who want to join the fray. Progressive politics mean just that, progress. Conservatism is frightened, retrograde resistance to change, and everyone knows how unhealthy that is in the scheme of things. Liberalism will forever be painted by those on the other end of the spectrum as naive and immature, but history rings it true: conservatives may win battles, but they never win the war. Progressive ideals and pushing things forward for the betterment of all…that's what always emerges triumphant in the end, no matter how alarming our political future may seem, and no matter how many shills there are covering for their bosses along the way.  

Fathoms

Now the seasons cast their worried stones against this wall

where we're burnished gold by a drunken, sagging sun.

Here's the glow that haunts our celestial acreage, 

darkening, quickening, a knife's edge pressed against 

the trembling hands of descending dusk.

These are seawashed bones upon a foreign shore,

where sand and soot plot passages away from tumbling waves,

and pine-tops crumble like the dust they secretly 

know they are, the weight of a hawk settling with 

furious, beating wings, hazarding a view of a distant expanse. 

I am alone at last with little but light and thought to keep me,

time for few regrets and to muse upon even less, 

an outpost untroubled by spirits or more earthly concerns,

beyond the rocks, beyond the stacks of burning sulfur, 

with only the fog for companionship's sake at my table.

February Burlington Lament

Oh, smallest hint of spring in the wayward currents,

pause for awhile in our brick and winter-battered town,

light upon branches with the softest breath of warmth and hazy sun, 

so that we might endure the grim finality of these grayest months,

and how they strike out with frozen fury at the houses and the street-corners 

where we pile space-heaters and blankets 

as battlements against the fierce young year.

Earliest sign of approaching gentler seasons, 

walk with us through the black pine and sumac trail, 

and stir them to sing with your yellow-green fingertips; 

this winter's been so cold, we seek your kind reprieve,

so cast down your lot in our little city, 

that we might emerge from paralyzed sleep once more.

The Permanent Departures

This silent elegy is fashioned 

from bones dissolved in a sanguine summer field,

and bits of cold metal rusting in a pallid rain,

stitched idly by spider webs and thick bird's nests, 

these ancient, lurking ruins. 

Or torn seat fabric singed with black flame,

now half-submerged in the reedy bog,

the once sun-shimmer of seatbelt buckles

now rubbed and scratched bare 

beneath these patient currents. 

Here, where the news crews trampled 

their way to the grimmest of scoops,

where dazed passengers wandered 

bloodied and torn-clothed in the grass, 

shrieking, batting at halos of sparks 

in their tangled hair,

there's still jet fuel staining the land,

a harrowing old memorial.

Polar Vortex, 2014

To dust and ashes, the late season's gusts,

whipping about the house as if feverishly

seeking out some mystery tucked beneath its beams,

whistling through the upstairs halls

to stitch a veil of chill along the posts and the staircase. 

This end-of-day blue at the curtain of our southern sky

is stretched taut like old paper over the night swelling beneath,

bleeding like a bruise capsizes worried bones,
a stain of wine pooling on a littered tablecloth.

These are the half-awake days,
grasping for purpose and reasoning
in fogged alleys between the mills
and down the shattered cobblestones,

a bourgeoning of something pale and shadowed

and gathering like magpies on the traffic lights. 

Continental Divide

How long until this winter's over? 

Last week it seemed the streets

bled dust like forgotten attic trapdoors,

a grit so solid that a thousand 

lawn sprinklers failed to carve its surface.

Now the streets run cold and black-ice slick

clear out to a snow-hill'd horizon, 

all ribbons of frost like the powdered ash

of ancient mammoth volcanos,

far out beyond this corridor of sagging 

houses and tangled, crumbled fields,

sleepwalking like a trance into an aether. 

The Outsourcing

Now I have joined you, fair fortune,

a last wandering descent 

through a netherworld of 

fast-fallen summer days, 

blank as an avalanche against 

gray-swept hillsides of years and youth,

in a thousand June backyards struck 

beneath the weight of soft ambitions.

We have been found wanting,

fallow, misshapen souls

floating the tree-lines and jagged roofs

of our dread cutout wilderness,

our blood which stains the blade

in the rust and tarnish of black centuries 

and off-years, moments spent 

wandering lost behind 

the Interstate noise-wall.

This saltwater in our ragged lungs,

it stings like the thoughtless fury

of phalanxes of dark-faced hornets, 

an outpost along the edges of endless outskirts.

These days remain in malformed erasure,

not even static to bless the bones of the weary house,

or the tangled sheets on a sour-stained mattress. 

We, wounded immortals, 

who flung rocks against the barricades

and expected all of Babylon to drop 

to quivering knees at our approach!

We who clasped hands with spirits in sleep,

only to release them in curse and spell-craft

in the washed-out sun of regretful dawn.

I find I still have eyes to see with,

fingers that still grace skin,

or the torn vinyl of the frozen car seat.

Our lives cracked like a luck-starved mirror,

at the very tremble of half-touched hearts

in the weight of all these ashen mountains.

These were the finest hours,

traced with thin gold lace and amethyst,

but now they're burned through

by candles tipped against the windows,

the wax rotting away the the thread,

the glass warping and melting 

in miniature inferno.

And the spires and stacks of this 

aching nest of city streets

sliced the sky like solemn knives,

beaten back by the arctic glare

of a billion aching stars,

of light pollution lingering around 

the blinking code of radio towers.

You whom I've known since childhood,

you whose serpent's breath 

and doubled-over mirth 

had swept me in your tempest,

do you not stand today amongst

the graves and gallows of a 

haunted continent,

and shout at me from

topographies unimagined?

Dusk catches us sleepwalking again

and follows us home,

showing up in the dead hiss of 

tape recordings or the howling shift 

of images lurking in the VHS.

Sometimes, beyond the flames

that lick and jump in anxious fervor,

there's a face without expression,

wrapped in solace and in shadow.

Breathless and struck, we still continue, 

with memories strewn behind abandoned.

Ask: what will map our silent crossings when we're gone?

Last night the crows fell like a shroud on wings

of brutalist charcoal, 

and swallowed the barn whole in their icy cries.

This doorstep is peeling away like a false awakening,

a wake held beneath the churning waves of spent woodgrain.

Oh, how the painted yesterdays sway with drunken footfalls,

entwined in heady mist of spilled wine and hoarse cheers,

as we, scythe-like, mow apart the autumn age of remembering.

There is no more distant wavering shoreline,

no lapping surf to hide your clawing wants,

they are leaving in a line towards the veiled orange gloom,

and they will not soon be returning.

Whatever was loved is permanently sunstruck,

statuesque and paralyzed, left to devour away 

on a tide of furrowed countenances,

of heads glancing backwards in sorrow recognition,

of hands dragged beneath the surface of a love 

that never found its shining season,

and lays drunk and dazed, half-alive,

in the vined ruins of a disappeared evening.